Fog
by mcwheatley
Summary: A knight's observances one foggy evening. Written for a challenge on LiveJournal.


Summary: Just a knight's observances one foggy night. Rated PG for the mention of m/m but if you blink you'd miss it.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything you may recognize, that goes to Bruckheimer and Co. I do take credit for the lady mentioned, however briefly. But she is from another time, another story.

A/N: This is for a challenge over at LiveJournal. community./roundtable500/profile if anyone is interested.

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Fog

It's one of those nights where I can't sleep. Not so very late, many people are still out and about, but I've taken to going to bed early. I find that as I'm getting older, rising early gets harder. Especially when my body is battered and bruised.

Sitting high on the wall, I can usually see everything around me. Not so this night. The fog is sitting low to the ground. Much like a thick, wool blanket that covers nearly everything in sight. More of it rolls in like waves on the ocean., covering all in its shades of grey.

The sky above is unusually clear and bright, owing to the heavy rain we had gotten earlier. The light the moon offers is meager and is having a hard time cutting through the fog.

I can hear the laughter and noise of those drinking somewhere behind me. I know that many of my brothers are there, relieving the stress of having to sit still for so many days. Most of them are probably so far into their cups that they may be having trouble staying upright. I also find that as I get older, I am losing my taste for the ale. I don't like when my senses are dulled. Don't get me wrong, I can still hold my own against the others, I just choose not to do so as often as they.

I wonder if she is there, serving and laughing as she does. I haven't seen her yet today, our duties not crossing paths as they sometimes do.

Looking out further, I see the black mounds that dot one of the farther pastures. They are unmoving with an occasional wisp of steam rising. A rustling in that direction catches my eyes. One of the smaller, black mounds is nosing its way through the small hill of hay. Obviously searching for a late evening snack. I wrinkle my nose out of habit, knowing that those black shapes belong to the cows that are pastured there. Even in the night they smell bad, the heaviness of the fog not helping.

Below and all around me, I can see the flickering lights of those in their homes. Occasionally, I 

hear a squeal and a laugh. There is a young widow who has a home nearby with her young son. For everything that she has to endure, she's a pleasant woman. Her son is happy and healthy.

In another home there is a couple fighting. I can his deep, angry voice. Cutting her higher, no less angry voice off when she is trying to make a point. He's an angry man, always on the defense, always trying to create conflict. Something will have to be done about him at some point. I just hope it's before he does more than just push his wife around.

Maybe I'll just make some of those rumors about me true.

Now, as I sit here I take in the night. The fog is creating a dampness that clings to everything. There is almost a stillness that you can get lost in. It smells like the rain, but that welcome scent does nothing to cover the stench of the beasts below.

I enjoy the quiet, but that quiet is soon disturbed. I hear them before I see them. The two men not arguing as they often do. This time, one of them is drunk, while the other is admonishing as softly as he can. It's a half-hearted scolding, laced with a laughter of it's own. It's obvious that he doesn't want to draw attention to himself and his companion.

I lean a bit further so I can see them as they pass below me. The shorter of the two men is laughing, his steps faltering a bit. My guess is that he tripped over something in his path. A girly, wet laugh erupts. I watch as the larger man grunts as he helps his friend regain his balance.

I know where they are going, my gaze going to the orchard. Nothing is there to hinder the meeting. They will not be disturbed this evening. The thickness of the fog will hide most, if not all of their activities.

My eyes go again to the men. As I start to lean forward a bit more I hear a voice behind me. "You really shouldn't spy on people." I snap back quickly, ashamed for what I was doing.

"I'm not… How long have you been there?" I smile as I say this. I already know.

"For a while." She's smiling as well as she hands me a mug of cider.


End file.
